Opting for TORPOR

The meditative moments Saturday night had one of the things I put on-the-BACK-burner as being the thing that would typically impel me to construe a night ardor. This being torpidity, thence made realization a struggle but no less a pay-off toward now of course though I paid for this feeling then. It seemed all I could do was a vertiginous pose and all I wanted was a babe-on-the-lawn seeking the brighter atmosphere. I looked at my hands for what really is a conciliatory image, not unlike a geometric-ploy of a Mohammedan in their tantric response to a world of over-bearing images: scripture as pictorial design conveying the adherent out of the cosmic to the conveyance of that & Other things. Images symbolic of sound e.g. the language of G-d's mind, are just as UNIQUE as my hands as IF they were pug marks on a path in the Wilderness and explanate of an instinct to be consoled in the distances we achieve to consume an objective cause. This would be a spiritual exercise, if not for linear thought bringing me out of the angst of LOSS of inner-attention. Inner-attention is always a godsend, but as that Higher Ground is what it is--some OTHER place, I am typically deliberating on the exudation of some Lower Order of things. --a trifling ordeal, and the simplest to contemplate.